


Killing in the Name or: What Happens in Vegas

by deepfriedmoonpie



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Drugs, Gambling, Guns, Hate Sex, Homophobic Language, Las Vegas, M/M, Not-So-Hate Sex, Pity Sex, Prostitution, Vampires, coarse language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-23 19:55:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepfriedmoonpie/pseuds/deepfriedmoonpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He found it in section 4B, the decapitated corpse laying in a quickly congealing pool of its own blood and the head just a few feet away between the tires of an aging Land Rover.  The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly pricked, alerting him to the shadow’s presence.  “Nice one, myshonok,” he mumbled, kneeling next to the body and riffling through its pockets.  He pulled out a wallet and tossed it to the sharp little man who’d suddenly materialized before him.  “Who is it?” he asked and dug further, finding a small baggie of fine white powder and snorted in distaste.  “Fucking junkie fangers.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blind Bet

**Author's Note:**

> I regret nothing.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!

Cain looked out over the brilliant expanse of the city, small, tight, but bubbling over with frenetic activity, cold, colorful, the city of no last call, where hedonism was celebrated: _his_ city. He'd lived in many but Las Vegas was his favorite, calling it home nigh on three years, just long enough for the sand and neon to seep into his pores, giving him a high better than any drug. He breathed the dry night air deeply, taking in the scents of a twenty-four-hour town and grinned. God, he loved it.

A sudden flash in the parking garage across the street caught his eye and he dropped his glowing cigarette to the concrete, hefting the heavy weapon to his shoulder and peering down the sight. It was an antique, old and well-worn; his peers constantly gave him shit for it, preferring modern weapons, but it was comfortable in his hands and it had never failed him. The flash came again between two cars and he held his breath to steady his hands before pulling the trigger on the crossbow. His aim was true and the bolt struck his quarry directly in the heart, pinning it to the concrete support behind it. It screeched in fury, baring its fangs and snarling as it spied Cain across the way. 

"I see you, Cain!" it screamed, face contorted with rage but otherwise immobilized. "I name you!" 

Cain smirked and winked at it as a small shadow appeared at its side. 

"No! No, don't!" it pleaded, eyes wide. "Please, I won't-" It went silent as its words were cut off as neatly as its head.

Static crackled in Cain’s ear and he nodded. “Hold tight,” he said and made his way to the stairwell. He wound his way down the five flights and hit the street, pausing briefly to check that he wasn’t being followed and crossed Koval Lane to the MGM. He gave half a thought to ducking inside for a few shots before cleaning up the mess he’d helped make, but thought better of it: no matter how distasteful he found that aspect of his job it wasn’t worth the ass-chewing he’d get for the delay. Later.

He found it in section 4B, the decapitated corpse laying in a quickly congealing pool of its own blood and the head just a few feet away between the tires of an aging Land Rover. The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly pricked, alerting him to the shadow’s presence. “Nice one, myshonok,” he mumbled, kneeling next to the body and riffling through its pockets. He pulled out a wallet and tossed it to the sharp little man who’d suddenly materialized before him. “Who is it?” he asked and dug further, finding a small baggie of fine white powder and snorted in distaste. “Fucking junkie fangers.”

An Iowa driver’s license landed on the corpse’s chest and Cain picked it up, inspecting it in the bright artificial light of the parking garage. “Marcus Cunningham,” he murmured. “Not our guy, but whatever. Find anything else?” he asked and looked up to see the shadow shake his head. He grunted in reply and stood, pocketed the baggie of white powder and leaned his crossbow against the Range Rover. “Let’s get this over with,” he said and rolled up his sleeves.

After all evidence had been scoured from the garage and the body and head tightly wrapped and secured in the trunk, Cain leaned against the car, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“You hungry? Wanna go to Ellis Island?” he asked the shadow, but the little man shook his head, gesturing to the car. “Suit yourself,” Cain muttered. “Call me if you need help. I’m going to the club.” He hefted his crossbow to his shoulder and sauntered to his own shitbox a few spaces down.

The club was something he’d invested in after a botched job in St. Louis left him with a broken knee and the realization that he couldn’t hunt vampires forever. He needed a fallback plan and since activity in Las Vegas had been picking up he decided a permanent relocation and a legitimate means of making a living were in order. Once he’d discovered that his first Vegas kill was the owner and operator of The Stallion it was almost too easy. A couple days, a few threats and several grand in bribes later the place was his, under an alias, of course. It was small but successful, laid back in a way that suited Cain just fine. He hired only the best girls and quickly gained a reputation as a fair employer. One of them eyed him as he ducked through the side entrance and made his way to the back office, peeled away from the ugly slob pawing at her at the bar and followed him.

Cain sat in his chair as she entered the office and closed the door behind her, perfect bare tits swaying just slightly as she helped herself to a seat on his lap and threw her arms around his neck. She stank of cheap booze and even cheaper perfume and Cain sighed inwardly. “What do you want, Brandi?” he asked her patiently.

Brandi hummed and ducked her head to suck on his neck just below his ear and gyrated her ass against his crotch. “You,” she murmured, licking a wet trail to the base of his throat and sliding a hand between his legs to grip his cock. She massaged it while taking his hand and placing it on her breast with an encouraging squeeze, all the while licking and sucking at his neck in the most lascivious manner possible. After a moment she gave a disappointed noise and sat up, fixing him with an irritated look. “Nothing?”

Cain grinned. “Nope. Sorry, baby,” he said, patting her on the thigh.

Brandi stood and glared at him. “Fuckin’ waste,” she huffed and adjusted her thong.

“How’s it going tonight?”

“Good,” she sighed, apparently getting over herself. “Full. CES is in town.”

Cain nodded and kicked his feet up on the desk before him. Horny, repressed computer geeks were always good business. “Bring me a drink, will you?” he asked by way of dismissal.

“Yeah,“ Brandi replied and turned, pausing at the door. “You sure you don’t...?” She left it hanging but Cain knew what she meant. He looked at her levelly.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “It’s not me, it’s you.”

It was then that he remembered something. “Here,” he said, digging the baggie of white powder out of his pocket and tossing it on the desk. “Maybe this’ll make it better.”

Brandi looked from his face to the desk, thought a moment, then snatched up the baggie. “You’re still a waste,” she threw at him and left the office with an exaggerated sway to her hips.

Cain made an inelegant sound of amusement. He admired Brandi’s determination but preferred that she apply it to the floor instead of his pants. His cell buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out and glanced at the screen. Deimos had disposed of the body. Good. Now he could enjoy the rest of his night. Just then something on his hand caught the light and he looked down at himself, groaning at the sight of hot pink glitter all down his front. “Fucking strippers,” he grumbled and ineffectively tried to brush it off. He admitted defeat and wondered where Brandi had gone off to with his drink. Probably snorting the spoils of war in the rear bathroom with the other usual suspects, vacant, beautiful girls whose names all ended with “i.” He opened the office door and stood just outside, surveying the scene.

It was much the same as any other night, a little busier, music thumping, topless waitresses bustling, girls on three separate stages doing routines that made Cirque du Soleil look like a joke. He scanned the dim for the head of security, Ripper, a hulking black man with a mean face and even meaner personality and gave him a nod. Ripper nodded back. All was as it should. He turned his attention to the bar and his eyes then fell on the one thing that ever stood out in the club, the one thing that ever got his attention: a young man nursing a craft beer with eyes glued to a keno machine instead of a girl’s tits. He was just his type, too, small and lean, blond, pretty with fair skin and a blush in his cheeks. Probably had a nice ass, too, if only he’d get off the stool so he could see. His lips twitched up in a knowing grin as he watched the blond get flustered and apologetic when Candy (if ever a name needed an “i” it was that one) propositioned him and he refused, going back to his game, a little redder than before. Yup. Perfect.

Cain approached the bar and signaled the bartender for his usual vodka tonic. He leaned casually against the polished wood, just a few inches separating them and cast the blond a sidelong look.

“What are you doing here?” he asked loudly.

The blond started in surprise and looked up at Cain with large brown eyes. “P-Pardon?” he spluttered.

“Doesn’t seem like your kind of scene. Why are you here?” Cain repeated.

The blond gazed at him a moment, wary, then inclined his head toward a group of average looking assholes hollering at Brandi on the center stage. So that’s where she went. “Colleagues wanted to go out. I was outvoted,” he explained, taking a sip of his beer.

Cain nodded, unsurprised. “You here for the convention?” The bartender handed him his drink and he took a cold pull, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Yeah. I’m an engineer,” the blond said, leaning in a little, becoming interested. “What do you do?”

Cain grinned and gestured toward the club at large.

“You own this place?” he asked skeptically.

Cain shrugged. He didn’t really care if the guy believed him or not. “Name’s Cain,” he said and stuck out his hand.

The blond looked at the proffered hand for a moment before taking it and giving it a shake. “Ethan.” His smaller hand was cool and dry enclosed inside Cain’s. “What kind of name is Cain, anyway?”

“Mine.”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, _Cain_ ,” he said, placing a sarcastic emphasis on his name, then blushed as he realized Cain still held his hand. He pulled it away quickly and shifted his nervous eyes back to the keno machine.

Cain took another sip of his drink in an effort to conceal his amusement. Ethan was an interesting mix of bold and shy, something of a challenge, he thought, and he liked that. He set his glass on the bar and leaned close enough so he wouldn’t have to shout to be heard over the music, so close he could feel the heat of Ethan’s blush radiating from his face. The blond stiffened and watched him out of the corner of his eye. “Wanna get out of here?” Cain asked him.

Ethan glanced up at him and then to his partying coworkers, pursed his lips and thought a moment, then picked up his beer to finish it off. “Yeah, okay,” he said and stood, setting the bottle back on the bar. He grabbed a dark gray peacoat from the stool next to him and shouldered it on, buttoning it as he watched Cain curiously.

Cain smiled and took Ethan by the elbow to gently steer him toward the front entrance. Ethan startled at the touch but allowed himself to be led, casting Cain a shy, wide-eyed glance over his shoulder. Oh, he was really going to enjoy seducing this one. Ripper gave him an impassive look as they exited and Cain smirked at him. “Don’t wait up,” he joked and Ripper grunted. The man had no sense of humor but he could knock the shit out of anyone with just his little finger.

The night air was bitter, colder than usual for January in Las Vegas but Cain barely noticed, too busy being distracted by the little shudder that passed through Ethan’s body as the chill hit him. He amused himself briefly by wondering if he’d get to be the cause of an entirely different kind of shuddering later on, but was interrupted by Ethan turning and looking at him expectantly.

“So what do you have in mind?” he asked.

“You been to Vegas before? Ever go up the Stratosphere?” Cain pointed to the brightly lit tower just up the street.

Ethan’s gaze followed Cain’s arm and shook his head.

“It’s just a few minutes’ walk.” Cain started down the sidewalk but stopped when he realized Ethan wasn’t following him. “What?”

“It’s nearly three in the morning. Isn’t it closed?” Ethan asked skeptically.

Cain shrugged. “I know a guy.” Truth be told, he knew a lot of guys - at least the ones who would let him wherever he wanted in exchange for a bill or bottle service at the club.

Ethan rolled his eyes again. “Of course you do,” he said and started walking. He paused when he caught up to Cain standing below a lamppost, dropped his eyes to Cain’s crotch and arched an eyebrow. “Glamorous,” he said dryly.

Cain looked down and snorted at the glitter sparkling there in the lamplight. “Occupational hazard,” he said with a rueful grin and turned down the sidewalk once again, Ethan keeping up this time.

“So you really do own that place,” the blond mused beside him. “Does that work for you?”

“What?”

“You know, picking up _men_ at a bar where _women_ get naked.”

Cain barked a laugh, surprised and impressed by Ethan’s sass. “It worked tonight, didn’t it?” he pointed out.

Ethan flushed and had the grace to look almost contrite. “Isn’t it a little incongruous, though?” he pressed. “You owning a strip club?”

Cain stopped and turned to face the other man, took a couple steps forward so they were practically toe to toe. Ethan was obviously nervous but stood his ground. “Why?” Cain asked lowly, pleased with the way Ethan’s breath quickened just a bit. “Strip clubs mean money, and I like money.” He let his eyes pointedly rove over Ethan’s slightly parted pink lips before turning to head down the sidewalk once again, the Stratosphere tall and glowing just up ahead. He heard faltering steps as Ethan rushed to catch up to him and smiled to himself; this was the best game of cat and mouse he’d had in years.

Despite his amusement he never dropped his guard, senses keen and alert for anything unexpected. Fangers usually went to ground immediately after word got around that one of them had been killed, suspicious of anyone and everyone since no vampire had ever seen Cain’s face and lived to tell about it, but he was careful all the same. He chose his route to the Stratosphere specifically because of brightly lit Sahara Avenue, and then because of brightly lit Las Vegas Boulevard, typically teeming with tourists even in the wee hours though not this time of year, New Year’s Eve come and gone and all the crazy drunken revelers with it. Still, though, they passed a few people here and there, Cain eyeing them with scrutiny and fingering the small stake hidden in the interior pocket of his leather jacket.

They arrived at the front entrance of the casino and Cain relaxed - fangers would be suicidal to try anything now - and held the door open for Ethan, giving him a wink as the blond passed through, gratified by the slight widening of his eyes and rise of color in his cheeks. Cain didn’t know which he liked better at the moment, Ethan’s smart mouth or reactive body, but the one thing he was absolutely certain about was how much fucking fun he was having. The door closed behind him and they were greeted with the cheerful clinks and chimes of cheesey-themed video poker machines and slots, a few late-night stragglers vainly attempting to play out a twenty, ignorant that the powers that be rigged it so they could play for hours, winning and losing in turns until eventually leaving empty-handed but feeling like they gave it a good run.

“You gamble?” Cain asked.

Ethan shook his head. “Nah. Never really saw the point,” he replied and scrunched his cute little nose. “Do all casinos smell like vanilla and despair?”

Cain laughed for what felt like the hundredth time that night and gently prodded Ethan deeper into the casino with warm fingers to his skinny back. They wound their way through the floor, passing dark and locked shops, abandoned kiosks and the ghost of the hotel registration desk until they reached a velvet rope stretched across a set of elevators and an ancient security guard with a bored look on his leathery face.

“Hey, Art,” Cain greeted, a little relieved. The guy was a cheap drunk and would let him off easy when he showed up at the weekend.

“Cain,” the old coot acknowledged.

“Mind if we go up for a bit? Ethan here’s from out of town.”

Art reached a gnarled old hand to the security release panel next to one of the elevators and shakily inserted a key. How the old fart hadn’t kicked over already Cain had no idea, but the tremor in his hand indicated time would only tell. An elevator’s doors whooshed open with a quiet chime and Cain unclipped the the velvet rope from the stanchion, gently propelling a nonplussed Ethan forward.

“Thanks, Art,” he tossed over his shoulder as he replaced the rope and followed the blond inside. “We won’t be long.”

The guard simply grunted and turned away.

Cain hit the button for the observation deck and leaned casually against the back wall as the doors closed. “You might want to hang on to something,” he suggested.

“What? Why-” Ethan was cut off as the elevator suddenly shot up, throwing him off balance and directly into Cain’s side. Cain caught him and set him right with a chuckle, noting the long, fine-boned fingers clutched to his arm and the rush of color to Ethan’s cheeks.

“You look good in pink,” he teased as Ethan let go of his arm and looked away in embarrassment. He didn’t move away, though, stayed right up next to him against the wall, almost touching and Cain wanted to kiss him then, find out what that smart mouth tasted like, but didn’t. Even though the blond was practically begging for it with his wide-eyed ingenue schtick he didn’t think he was quite ready for it yet, and besides, he was enjoying the game way too much to end it so soon. 

Ethan cleared his throat and looked around the elevator as if he could see beyond the shiny mirrored walls. “So do you do this often?” he asked.

“What, ride elevators?”

The blond rolled his eyes at him. “Take strangers to the top of the Stratosphere at three o’clock in the morning,” he replied, composure apparently recovered.

Cain grinned. Sassy Ethan was back. “Actually, this is a first for me,” he admitted. It really was. Between offing fangers and keeping the strip club solvent there wasn’t much time for cruising.

Ethan snorted disbelievingly. “You seem pretty confident to me,” he told him.

“I like you,” Cain said with a shrug.

“You don’t even know me.”

Cain shrugged again and the elevator came to an abrupt stop, the doors sliding open to reveal the small, brightly lit entry and hallway that led to the observation deck. “Ladies first,” he said and gestured grandly toward the door. Ethan shot him an annoyed look as he passed and Cain smiled to himself as he followed him out. The hallway was short and dumped them directly in the enclosed observation deck, dark save for the few scattered emergency lights and the soft glow of the city over a thousand feet below.

Ethan pulled up short and gasped quietly. “Oh, wow,” he breathed, absently placing his hand on Cain’s arm. “I had no idea the city was so big.”

“You can see even more of it if you actually go up to the windows,” Cain suggested mildly. Ethan looked at him apprehensively and let go of his arm, cautiously approaching the glass as if he thought the whole tower might topple over with his slight weight. Cain hung back and watched, amused by the blond’s irrational fear but understood it: nearly everyone had a brief bout of nerves once the reality of being so far removed from solid ground hit them, himself included.

Ethan stood at the windows, stared out at the sprawling metropolis and turned, flashing the first smile Cain had seen on his face all night and he knew without a doubt that he was in trouble. He didn’t believe in bullshit like love, didn’t have time for it, but chemistry was something he knew and understood very well and Ethan was oozing buckets of it without even trying. He excitedly waved Cain over and Cain went to him as if pulled by a string, equal parts irritated and intrigued by the idea that instead of being the seducer he was quite possibly the one being seduced.

“What’s that big pink thing?” Ethan asked as he came up beside him and pointed to a garish rounded structure below.

“The Adventuredome, “ Cain explained. “It’s an indoor amusement park.”

“Is it any good?”

“Nah, it’s absolute shit.”

Ethan rewarded him with a laugh and moved a few feet away to read an informational sign about something else they were supposedly looking at but couldn’t quite see out there in the artificially lit dark. “It’s not quite as tacky looking from up here, is it?” he observed after a moment. “You could almost pretend it’s a real city.”

“I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” Ethan said quickly. “You probably like it here, huh?”

Cain shrugged. “Once you get away from the strip it’s like any other town,” he replied smoothly, determined not to let him feel guilty about a flippant remark and ruin the mood.

Ethan nodded and offered him a friendly, apologetic smile before walking off again to read the next sign and check the view. “Come on,” he said over his shoulder and Cain had no choice but to follow, dragged along by that invisible string.

They made the entire circuit, poking fun at the little lines of area facts printed haphazardly on the metal supports of the windows, stopping occasionally so Cain could point out one landmark or another and tell him if it was worth visiting. Eventually the conversation moved toward the usual get-to-know-you bullshit and for once in his life Cain didn’t really mind, content to just let Ethan steer the conversation to god knew where. Ethan told him all about his childhood, growing up in Boston and moving to Chicago after college to work for some tech company that made cheap medical equipment for shithole countries too fucked to save their own asses, and when he asked where Cain had spent his youth Cain simply replied, “All over.”

“Army brat, huh?”

“Something like that.”

Cain, in turn, told Ethan some of the more amusing stories about running a strip club in a city that truly never slept and was treated several times to the blond’s warm, appealing laughter and a few more smart remarks that wound the invisible string tighter and tighter until he thought it would snap from the tension and spring into his face. They eventually found themselves seated together on one of the couches close to the south windows, Ethan’s shoulder occasionally brushing Cain’s as he animatedly described a new prototype he was developing. Cain watched his lips and hands as the blond talked, decided he could watch and listen to him all day, his boyish enthusiasm lighting up his fair face, and before he knew it it was half past five and Cain had no idea where the time had gone.

“Oh, my god,” Ethan exclaimed, checking his watch. “I can’t believe I talked for that long. You should have shut me up ages ago.”

Cain shook his head. “It’s fine.” He couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed spending time with someone when it didn’t involve sex.

“I should go. Keynote’s at eight and if I don’t show up my boss will hit the roof.”

“You sure?” Cain asked him, leaning in a little, unwilling for it to end. One more hour and the sun would rise, locking the fangers into whatever hellholes they slept in for the day so Cain could enjoy the walk home and pay attention to the blond’s ass instead of their surroundings. Never mind getting to listen to him a little longer.

Ethan nodded and looked at him then, a strange look flickering across his face. “Thanks for tonight. I had a really good time.” He sounded almost surprised. “Can...can I call you? I’m here until Saturday and-”

Cain dug into his jacket pocket to pull a business card for the strip club from his wallet and handed it to the blond, who rolled his eyes and stood.

“Right. Forget it,” he said and turned toward the elevators.

Cain reached up and caught Ethan by the wrist to stop him. “Relax, princess. I live above the club. That line goes straight to my office and I’m the only one who answers it,” he explained and was relieved when the blond’s cheeks flushed.

“Oh,” Ethan breathed. “I thought you were blowing me off.”

“With a sweet ass like yours?” Cain snorted and stood, ran his hand from Ethan’s wrist to his upper arm and gave it a firm squeeze. “Fat chance.” Ethan smiled at him, nervous but genuine, and Cain thought the blond was pretty much asking to be kissed, but then he cleared his throat and checked his watch again.

“I really ought to try to get a little sleep,” he said sheepishly.

“Sure,” Cain said and smiled back. He was disappointed he had lost his chance but with Ethan wanting to see him again there would soon be plenty of opportunity, and it would probably even be better for the wait.

The trip down to the ground floor was quiet, Cain thinking and Ethan sneaking little glances at him when he thought he wasn’t paying attention, making Cain smile softly to himself as they exited the elevator.

“What?” Ethan asked curiously.

Cain just shrugged and smirked.

Art was nowhere to be seen, probably off napping in the emergency stairwell but Cain didn’t didn’t give it much more thought than that; he’d thank him for the assist later with the biggest bottle of Wild Turkey he could find. They wound their way back through the casino the way they had come and hit the street, empty now with everyone finally sleeping it off in the pre-dawn, Cain walking just behind Ethan’s shoulder, comfortable with their silence and amused whenever Ethan tossed him another considering look with those large brown eyes. He entertained himself with watching the movement of the blond’s hair as the chill desert wind ruffled it and his fingers itched with the urge to touch it, wanted to feel it between his fingers and grasp it in his fist, pull his head back by the fine golden strands and make him gasp and then suddenly Ethan stopped walking and turned to face him, his cheeks pink with heat or cold and stood on tip-toe, grabbed Cain by the back of the neck and brought Cain’s head down for a soft, warm kiss. Cain reacted almost instantly, surprised but only for a moment, reached out to grab Ethan by the waist, pulling him closer and returned the kiss, tongue sliding gently along Ethan’s bottom lip to coax him to open his mouth. Ethan complied with a shaky little sigh, breath puffing from his cold nose and tickling Cain’s upper lip as he pressed harder, a small sound escaping from his pale throat as their tongues met.

Cain’s world suddenly tilted as a pair of strong hands grabbed the back of his jacket and threw him into a nearby lamppost. The back of his head cracked mercilessly against the steel and stars shot across his vision, temporarily blinding him to everything but intense pain and he crumpled to the concrete, dazed. He was distantly aware that Ethan was shouting but he couldn’t understand what he was saying, only knew that it was bad and he had to do something but he couldn’t _think_ with the ringing in his ears and his own pulse throbbing loudly in his head, but then Ethan’s shouts changed to screams and his mind cleared enough for him to realize it was a fucking vampire. He scrabbled for the lamppost, the only thing recognizable in the fog of pain and with great effort hauled himself to his feet. He steadied himself against the cold metal for a moment and shook his head, instantly regretting it when a new wave of pain washed over him and caused him to white-knuckle the lamppost, but the movement did as was intended and allowed Cain to finally sweep the cobwebs from his mind. He reached inside his jacket and pulled the stake from its hiding place inside his pocket, gripped it as firmly as he could and launched himself at the vampire.

The vampire heard him and threw Ethan to the ground as it spun to meet Cain’s advance. It bared blood-stained fangs and Cain knew without a doubt that Ethan had been bitten but the fucking piece of shit fanger blocked his path so he couldn’t see if he was simply dinner or if his throat was torn out and bleeding all over Las Vegas Boulevard. Cain didn’t have much time to think about it before the fanger charged him, snarling and snapping and grabbing the arm holding the stake with obscene strength. Cain hated new fangers, all brawn and no brains, incapable of intelligent speech and what little thought they had focused on a constant loop of blood and blood and blood and blood and blood, but they were slow and easy to manipulate once you knew them for what they were.

Cain let go of the stake and caught it with his other hand as it dropped, the fanger tracking the movement with its erratic eyes, too new and stupid with bloodlust to understand the significance until the sharpened ash was already piercing its heart and freezing its limbs. Cain wrenched his arm from the thing’s grip and pushed it to topple ungracefully to its back on the ground, bent to retrieve the Bowie knife he kept concealed in his boot and dropped to his knees on the fanger’s shoulders, swiping the point of the knife across its larynx first to keep it from screaming as he proceeded to separate its head from its body. It gurgled airily through the hole, blood splattering messily all over Cain’s hands, once-human eyes frantically rolling around in its face like a cow in the slaughter line and Cain sawed back and forth, releasing his anger and frustration at letting his guard down and getting jumped so close to dawn with every wet, thick sound of tendons and arteries melting beneath his hands like butter. The knife finally met resistance at the juncture where skull met spine and the fanger finally realized the jig was up, locked its wide eyes on Cain and Cain wrenched the knife, severing the joint, pressing the blade through the rest of the flesh until he hit concrete. He grabbed the head by its curly red hair and flung it off to the side and glared at it, tired and pissed off and desperately in need of a drink. 

A small sound suddenly caught his attention and Cain turned to find Ethan sprawled on the sidewalk a few feet away, pale throat bloodied and eyes wide with terror, mouth working to say something but nothing coming out. Cain clambered unsteadily to his feet, his head swimming momentarily but he concentrated and tamped it down: passing out there was not an option. He reached down and pulled Ethan up by his arm, caught him as the blond’s knees gave out and held him steady until he could stand on his own. The guy was shaking, obviously traumatized but there was no time for explanation or comfort.

Cain fished his cell phone out of his pocket and pressed the only number on speed dial as he grabbed Ethan by the arm again and dragged him stumbling and stupid back the way they had come and cut through a shadowed parking lot, preferring the relative darkness of a side route back to the club to the duplicitous Las Vegas Boulevard, on edge and senses heightened. It had barely even rung before the call was picked up with no greeting. 

“D, I have a problem,” he spoke quickly into the receiver, then decided to switch to Russian once he realized Ethan’s too-large eyes were trained on his face. “In front of the Aztec. Now. I have to take care of something.” He didn’t bother to wait for a reply before ending the call and shoving his cell phone back into his pocket. Deimos would be there in a matter of minutes and he needed to get Ethan the fuck out of there or shit would really hit the fan. 

Ethan faltered, breath ragged and Cain caught him again, gave him a quick once-over but couldn’t really see much in the half light except for the slight gleam of his disturbed eyes and dark blood all down his front. “Keep walking,” he instructed gruffly and was surprised when Ethan’s steps became steadier and he picked up the pace. They ducked through one dark parking lot after another, silent save for Ethan’s heavy breathing and eventually wound their way to Industrial Avenue, Cain stopping them briefly here and there to listen and watch and make sure they weren’t being followed. A pink glow on the horizon promised dawn soon but Cain didn’t relax, instead shoving Ethan ahead of him and checking all sides once he caught sight of the club up ahead. They circled around to the back door and Cain whipped out a key, turned it in the lock and opened it to reveal a staircase. He pushed Ethan up the stairs, closing and barring the door behind them and swiftly set the security system, followed Ethan to the landing and keyed open yet another door, shoving Ethan inside.

Cain hit the light switch and the overhead lamp flickered on to reveal a small, sparsely decorated living room. “Sit down,” he commanded and pushed Ethan toward the single couch a few feet away before rushing off to retrieve the first aid kit he kept in the tiny kitchen off to the side. Judging by the amount of blood all over Ethan’s throat the bite had to have been bad. He tore off his jacket, dropping it to the floor and scrubbed his hands of the vampire blood at the sink before grabbing the kit and striding back to the living room where he found Ethan still standing, stiff and wide-eyed.

“What...what was that?” he asked dumbly as Cain opened the kit and rooted around for some disinfecting wipes.

“What the fuck did it look like?” he replied, rougher than he intended. He needed to remind himself that most people in the world had never even imagined a vampire let alone seen one. He tore open a packet of wipes and began the messy task of removing the blood from Ethan’s throat so he could dress the wound. He could feel the blond trembling beneath his fingertips.

“But they’re not...they’re not real,” he breathed.

“They’re as real as you and me, sweetheart.” Cain gripped Ethan’s chin and gently forced him to look to the side as he inspected his work. “Where’s the fucking bite?” he muttered and pulled away the collar of his coat to peer at his skin, revealing nothing but more blood and no wound.

“But he...it...”

Cain ceased his ministrations and turned Ethan’s head back to face him and fixed him with a steely gaze. “You were bitten,” he said flatly. It wasn’t a question - he’d seen the blood on the fanger’s face.

“Yes, he...his teeth...”

Cain flexed his jaw and brought a clean wipe up to rub at the slight redness that he’d earlier dismissed as flush on one of Ethan’s cheeks and it came away pink. He dropped his eyes to the blond’s coat sleeve and saw the telltale smear of blood, gripped Ethan’s chin a little harder and forced him to look him in the eyes.

“Did you get any of its blood in your mouth?” he asked firmly.

“I don’t...I don’t...” Ethan started but trailed off, his breathing becoming ragged and his eyes unfocused.

Cain grabbed him by the shoulder with his other hand and gave the little blond a small but forceful shake. “Ethan, I need you to think very hard right now,” he growled lowly. “Did any of its blood get in your mouth?”

“You’re hurting me,” he whined, reaching up to grip Cain by the wrist.

Cain just sneered and squeezed Ethan harder, his temper rapidly building the longer he dragged this out. “You fucking tell me right now or I’ll put a bullet in your goddamn brain,” he warned dangerously. “Now, did any of its blood get in your mouth?”

Ethan blinked, gaze suddenly refocused and he looked at Cain with a mixture of shock and fear. “He...he bit his wrist and put it to my...to my...” he said, breath hitching. “I don’t...I don’t...”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Cain swore and shoved the blond away. He strode to the apartment door and shouldered it closed, turned to a keypad in the frame and punched a series of buttons that caused the internal mechanism to seal the heavy door shut with a clang, then punched the keypad with his elbow, shattering it and rendering it useless. He looked back at Ethan and held out his hand.

“Give me your phone,” he commanded.

Ethan blinked stupidly at him, uncomprehending. “My phone? What...why?”

“Give me your fucking phone before I take it from you,” Cain growled. The last thing he wanted to do after all this was knock him on his ass for a stupid piece of plastic but he’d do it if necessary. Thankfully, the blond reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone, holding it before him in a trembling hand and Cain took it, dropped it to the floor and ground his bootheel on it until he heard the shatter of plastic and glass. “Sit down,” he commanded again and this time Ethan complied, swiftly dropping to the couch. It seemed like he was regaining his senses somewhat and Cain sighed; it probably would have been better had he remained in shock. “You need a drink,” he told him and went back to the kitchen for a pair of tumblers and a bottle of booze. He sloshed them with a couple fingers of vodka and went back to the living room, handed one to Ethan and watched as he shakily brought it to his lips and took a sip. He made a face, the vodka obviously stronger than what he liked but took another sip anyway.

Cain sank down on the opposite side of the couch and watched him, becoming keenly aware of the dull ache at the back of his head throbbing its way into the forefront as the adrenaline receded from his veins. He couldn’t take anything other than the vodka, though, needed to stay sharp and awake for the next hour at least. He could deal with the pain later.

“So that was a vampire,” Ethan said suddenly, voice shaky but otherwise in control.

Cain grunted in response and knocked back his drink, got up to get another.

“How did you know how to kill it?” Ethan asked a little louder so Cain could hear from the kitchen. He brought the bottle of vodka back out with him and raised it to offer Ethan some more and Ethan quickly finished the remainder in his glass, pulled another face but held the glass out with a slightly steadier hand. Cain poured it about half full and sat back down, refilling his own as well.

“I hunt them,” Cain said after a moment. There was no point lying to him now.

Ethan sighed and closed his eyes and took another sip of his drink, the tension finally starting to ease from his shoulders. “I was bitten,” he said softly. “Why don’t I have a bite mark on my neck?”

“Vampire blood accelerates healing in humans,” Cain explained carefully. He took a big gulp of vodka and grit his teeth as the harsh liquid burned down his throat. “It made you drink its blood.” He looked at Ethan levelly, weighing exactly how much he should tell him, wondered if he should just shut up and get it over with, but decided that after all this, after letting the fanger get the drop on him when he should have been on guard he at least owed him the truth. “It’s how they make new vampires.”

Ethan opened his eyes and gazed at Cain, expression unreadable. “And you kill them,” he said emotionlessly, eyes flat.

“Yes.”

“And you’re going to kill me.”

Cain grit his teeth and finished his drink, reaching for the vodka again. “Yes,” he ground out and took a pull straight from the bottle. He wasn’t looking forward to it, especially considering how this whole thing was his fault and even more so since until shit went bad he was having the time of his life, but there was nothing else to be done. He couldn’t let him turn.

“What if I kill you first?”

Cain looked at him sharply, impressed yet again by the beautiful blond eyeing him stiffly from the other end of the couch and shrugged. “Even if you somehow pull it off you’ll still die. You’re surrounded on all sides by twelve inches of steel and concrete,” he told him. “There are no windows and only one door - which is as secure as a bank vault, by the way - and my partner is the only other person who knows the emergency override code to the external lock. You’ll have about a day before he comes to check on me when I fail to check in with him.”

Ethan finally deflated, sinking back into the couch with a shuddering sigh and closed his eyes, whatever strength he’d managed to briefly muster apparently spent.

“Do you need me to call anybody?” Cain asked him.

Ethan looked at him and snorted. “And say what?” he demanded. “‘Hello, Mister Mills, I was just calling to let you know that your son was turned into a vampire while kissing another man in Las Vegas and I had to kill him. So sorry.’” He rolled his eyes and cast Cain an exasperated glare.

Cain mumbled a “sorry” around the mouth of the vodka bottle as he took another sip, considering the man before him. He was strangely strong and coolheaded for someone about to lose their life. “You’re taking this well,” he told him after a moment. “Most people would be crying and begging right about now.”

“What’s the point? I die either way, right?” Ethan finished off the last of his drink and set the glass on the floor, reached out a slender hand and gestured for the bottle. Cain handed it to him and watched as he took a long draught and handed it back without making a face this time. “At least this way I won’t hurt anyone.”

Cain didn’t know what to say to that. He was used to fangers going down kicking and screaming, calling him every obscenity in the book as they fought him tooth and nail for survival, never this cool logic and resignation like it was just another boring Tuesday, but then Ethan wasn’t exactly a fanger yet and it wasn’t the first time since meeting him that he’d managed to surprise him. He would put him down with a bullet, he decided, painless and instant and save the rest for afterward. He’d do a clean job of it, be respectful - maybe even track down his old man if he had the time and leave a note or something. Cain never pretended to be a good person, not like Ethan actually was, what with his noble desire to save the whales or whatever with his med tech shit, but he could do this one right to try to make up for it. It was the best he could do. He eased his hand slowly between the side of the couch and the cushion until his fingers brushed the cool metal of the handgun hidden there but the vodka must have made him sloppy because Ethan caught his movement, was watching him, his expression nervous but thoughtful.

“Don’t I get a last request?” he suddenly asked.

Cain hesitated. “What?” What the fuck?

“Dead man walking, here,” he said with a hint of bitterness to his voice.

Cain slid his hand out from the couch and leaned back, wary of the renewed steel that appeared in Ethan’s eyes but felt that string tug at him once again. He chalked it up to the booze. “All right,” he agreed slowly. There was no harm in at least hearing what it was he wanted.

Ethan flushed then, his cheeks reddening under the lingering stain of the vampire blood and shrank in on himself, nerve apparently lost. “I...I just...” Whatever it was must have been a big deal because he couldn’t seem to get it out.

“What?” Cain pushed, a little amused. “You want me to fuck you or something?” He meant it as a joke but the way Ethan’s eyes widened and his face became impossibly redder proved he wasn’t too far off the mark. “No way,” he said doubtfully, looking him up and down. “I’m ten seconds away from putting a bullet between your eyes and you’re thinking about _sex_?”

Ethan’s expression immediately turned from one of embarrassment to anger and he sat up straight, back stiff. “Well, what else am I supposed to think about?” he demanded hotly.

“I don’t know - God or your mom or whatever the fuck else dying people do, but _sex_?” It was something Cain would certainly do, but that was _him_ and this was _Ethan_ , blowing hot and cold constantly since he met him. As much as the thought of fucking the blond had appealed to him earlier that night he wasn’t going to do it now, not like this. The guy was out of his fucking mind. 

“You were working pretty hard for it back there,” Ethan accused, indignant. “So what, you don’t want it now that I’m throwing myself at you? Newsflash, douchebag...I was going to do it anyway, so you can take whatever preconceived notions you have about ‘the game’ and stick it up your ass.”

Cain gaped at him, shocked and a little intrigued by Ethan’s sudden outburst and obvious misunderstanding of the situation. He was a fucking engineer - how could he be so dense? “You’re so... _weird_ ,” he said and knew how stupid it sounded as soon as it left his mouth but Christ, what the fuck.

“Me?” Ethan asked incredulously.

“Yeah.”

“ _I’m_ the weird one?”

“Yeah.”

Ethan stared at him unbelievingly for a moment, but then his face suddenly crumpled as he laughed, a real, genuine laugh, none of the bitterness from before in his voice as his skinny little shoulders shook, and Cain didn’t know if it was the booze or the surreality of the moment finally dawning on him but soon he was laughing right along with him, the tension in the room impossibly breaking and falling away.

“You’re drunk,” Cain observed mildly as he raised the bottle of vodka to his lips.

“Not enough,” Ethan murmured with a slight grimace. He closed his eyes and heaved a shuddering sigh, scrubbed his hands down his face then shook his head and set his shoulders, that steel suddenly back. He fixed Cain with a serious gaze. “How do you-”

“Okay.” The word was out before Cain could stop himself.

“Okay, what?”

“We can fuck.” Maybe it was selfish of him. Maybe all he wanted was a chance to taste the enticingly rare mixture of salty and sweet before he had to erase it from existence, but if that was the case then Ethan was selfish, too, because he’d asked it of him. The surprised yet hopeful look that flickered briefly across Ethan’s face told Cain he’d said the right thing. “This doesn’t change anything.” Cain had never been accused of being kind, but if there was comfort to be found there he wouldn’t be cruel, either.

Ethan shook his head and looked at him with an odd sort of nervous expectance.

“The bathroom’s through there,” Cain pointed to the ajar bedroom door off to the left.

Ethan blinked and looked down at his chest, the color rising again in his cheeks as he remembered the gross, sticky evidence of their night. “Oh, right,” he muttered and stood, fidgeting a little. “Are you...” he trailed off nervously.

“Towels are in the closet,” Cain told him by way of reply and got up to put the bottle of vodka back in the kitchen before his conscience could get the better of him. He grabbed a black garbage bag from under the sink and paused a moment, trained his hearing on the slight sputtering hiss of the shower turning on in the other room and wondered how he should do this. He usually preferred it rough, fast and hard - no time for anything else, really - but Ethan seemed like he needed something and Cain was feeling strangely generous: he wouldn’t be any different in a few hours than he was now, the change slow for the first twelve hours or so and it wouldn’t hurt to take their time if that was what he wanted. Either way was fine for him, determined to make it good. He felt his dick twitch at the thought.

He entered the bedroom and sat on the large bed, the hiss of the shower coming louder from the cracked doorway to the side and untied his boots, yanking them off and finding himself once again fascinated by Ethan's whiplash boldness to timidity, the roughly foot-wide gap in the bathroom door a clear invitation when just a moment ago he was practically trying to disappear in the couch, unable to ask for what he wanted. The invisible string drew him once again and he was pushing the door open before he even thought about it, the steam and heat and floral scent of the soap he kept for guests assaulting his senses. He looked toward the frosted glass of the shower door but couldn’t see anything except for a slight dark shadow, the fog too heavy on the glass. His eyes fell on the neatly stacked pile of soiled clothes on the sink instead and he shoved them in the garbage bag, eyes wandering back to the shower door and he idly wondered which part of his body Ethan was scrubbing. He tossed the bag to the side, stripped out of his own clothes and went to go find out for himself.

Ethan startled when the door opened though Cain knew he must have heard him messing with the garbage bag, brown eyes wide and skin flushed an enticing shade of pink from the hot water now, no more fanger blood there to confuse. His slender hands gripped a sudsy wash cloth a little too tightly as Cain reached out to take it from him, closing the shower door behind him. The space was more than big enough for two but Ethan stepped back anyway, relinquishing the cloth almost absently and Cain was amused to find that the blond had kept his eyes carefully trained on his face. He let his own gaze fall, took in the pale narrow chest, bony hips and long legs, cock half hard already from just the thought of him alone and smiled when he felt Ethan finally doing the same.

Cain tossed the wash cloth to the floor and Ethan jumped and looked up when he moved to place his hands on those warm, bony hips. “Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured, firming his grip. Ethan closed his eyes and nodded, placing a shaky hand on Cain’s bicep and Cain flexed it a little to tease him, getting a small, relieved smile in response and grinned. “That’s better.”

Ethan peeped up at him from below his lashes, bashful but pleased and Cain leaned down to kiss that little smile from his face. Ethan’s lips parted immediately and his tongue darted out slide along his own and he captured it, suckled it gently and Ethan moaned into his mouth, pressing himself against Cain, skin hot and slick from the water and rigid cock heavy and thick against his groin.

Cain slid his hand down to grip the soft roundness of Ethan’s ass, letting his fingers trail down his crack until he brushed up against the taut ring of muscle there and Ethan jerked so hard he smacked his elbow loudly against the glass. Cain drew back and pinned him with a cautious look. “I'm not killing you through your ass,” he told him.

Ethan shook his head quickly. “It's not that-”

“Then what gives?”

Ethan dropped his eyes and curled in on himself, somehow becoming even smaller and Cain froze, understanding immediately.

Of course.

Cain cursed himself for his stupidity, for not understanding sooner. He was too caught up in the events of the night, fuzzy and slow from the vodka and getting his head knocked in, too focused on the eventual end otherwise he would have seen it, would have read the signs correctly and handled himself better. The situation was almost laughable, everything transpiring in the last few hours practically a guide for exactly how _not_ to get laid, yet here they were, trying and failing anyway. They had plenty of time to recover, though, as long as Ethan still wanted it, and according to his cock it was a distinct possibility.

Cain reached over and turned off the water and Ethan looked up sharply, an obvious question in his eyes. “Get out,” Cain told him gently.

“But I-”

“Ethan, get out.” He opened the door and gave the blond a light push, sending him stumbling over the lip of the shower and let him stand there, bewildered and shivering slightly in the cooler air as he pulled a towel from the small linen closet and returned, opening it to rub at Ethan’s hair.

“What are you-”

Cain shut him up with a kiss, light but firm enough to leave Ethan a little unsteady when he pulled away. “We’re going to bed,” he said and ran the towel across Ethan’s shoulders. Ethan relaxed and let Cain dry his arm, then the other and on to the rest of him, Cain stopping every now and then to drop a hot, open-mouth kiss on his lavender scented skin. He relished in the little shivers they elicited and felt himself growing harder with every twitch the blond made, surprised at the strength of his own reaction but more than a little pleased.

With Ethan now dry Cain quickly toweled himself off and smirked when he caught his rapt gaze on him and pushed him toward the door, hands hot against Ethan’s skinny back and dragged the door closed behind them, leaving just a crack with the light on inside the bathroom to softly illuminate the total darkness of the bedroom. 

Ethan turned, placed his hands on either side of Cain’s waist and with a single pointed look they were kissing again, Ethan controlling it this time with his lips, firm and demanding. Cain growled lowly, painfully aroused, didn’t think he’d ever get tired of Ethan’s constant waffling between being the commander and the follower and caught Ethan’s lower lip with his teeth in an effort to remain grounded. His hands flew to Ethan’s hips and he pulled him close, hotly aware of the blond’s fully erect cock pressing into his thigh and slid his hands down to grip his firm little ass but this time he didn’t react other than to break the kiss and let out moan.

Cain wasn’t aware they were still moving, not until Ethan suddenly jerked and fell against the bed, shooting him a glare as he landed ungainly on the mattress but his expression changed immediately when Cain climbed on top of him and pressed their lips together again. He wrapped one strong arm around Ethan’s back and hauled him the rest of the way onto the bed before pulling his lips away to run them down Ethan’s pale throat, stopping to nuzzle the area where he was bitten. Ethan gasped and threaded his long fingers through Cain’s hair, body shivering when Cain nipped him there and ran his hands down to Cain’s shoulders and pressed hard. Cain got the hint and lowered himself to cover Ethan’s body with his own, legs shifting and tangling until he was comfortably between them, hips connecting and cocks hard and rubbing and Cain would have been annoyed at himself for getting so caught up if he wasn’t too caught up to care.

Ethan raked his nails down Cain’s back and Cain locked his teeth on Ethan’s shoulder, increasing the pressure of his bite as Ethan increased the pressure of his clawing, pleased they would both be marked, the thought propelling him to bite harder until Ethan moaned loudly and he wanted nothing more than to muffle that sound with a kiss, so he did. Ethan’s hips bucked against him, his breathing fast and hard through his nose as Cain fucked his mouth, little sounds distractedly leaving his throat and Cain catching every one.

Cain reached toward the nightstand and fumbled open the drawer to find the bottle of lube he kept there, grabbed it and flipped open the lid in one smooth motion and Ethan suddenly froze below him at the sound. Ethan pulled away and turned his head, slutty boldness gone as he regarded the bottle with wide, thoughtful eyes and looked back at Cain, uncertain.

“How...” he began softly and Cain could kick himself for losing control.

“However you want, baby,” he soothed.

Ethan looked back at the bottle, thinking, then looked at Cain again and Cain could swear he felt him blush. “Can I be on top?”

“Fuck yes,” Cain breathed and set the lube on the nightstand. He wrapped his arms around Ethan, rolled them both over until Cain was on his back with Ethan on top. Ethan settled his bony knees on either side of Cain’s hips, cocks brushing together again and causing the blond to shudder and bury his face self-consciously in Cain’s neck but Cain was having none of that, wanted to see his pretty flushed face and leaned up to kiss him long and slow. He reached down to grab Ethan’s ass and Ethan moaned into his mouth, the heat building between them again, previous embarrassment lost, and soon they were rocking together, breath short and loud in the otherwise silent room. Cain grabbed the bottle and squirt a generous amount of lube onto his fingers and returned his hand to its previous position. He slid one slicked finger experimentally over Ethan’s hole and instead of going rigid this time he bit Cain’s lower lip, and that was all the signal Cain needed.

Cain pressed one finger shallowly inside, just to the first knuckle to allow Ethan to adjust to the sensation, and when the blond shuddered and broke their kiss to press his hot face to Cain’s shoulder Cain pushed further, all the way in and held it there. Ethan felt hot, tight around his finger and Cain groaned, cock twitching when the muscles flexed around him at the same time Ethan latched his lips to his shoulder and sucked hard. He pulled his finger out most of the way and pressed it back in, thrust his hips to relieve some pressure and encourage Ethan to move, and move he did, quickly picking up a gentle, rolling rhythm and panting hotly against Cain’s neck.

Cain tested a second finger, encountered a little resistance this time but pressed on when Ethan brought his hands up to twist his fingers in his hair and pull, their movements increasing in tempo until Cain couldn’t stand it anymore and he pulled his fingers away. Ethan whimpered at the loss but quickly recovered his senses and sat back on his knees, biting his lip bashfully as he tentatively reached back to grip Cain and guide himself ever so slowly, locking his glazed eyes with his. Cain thought he might blow right there at the touch of Ethan’s fingers on his strained cock and gripped Ethan’s hips tighter than he meant too, tight enough to leave bruises if the little blond didn’t have fanger blood coursing through his veins to erase any evidence of Cain’s having been there, but then the head of his cock was pressing inside warmth and wet and there was no more room for thought.

Ethan held it there, eyes closed and breath shallow and shifted a little, lowering himself down as Cain stretched him wide, breath hitching from his pretty pink lips as he sank lower and lower, interminably slow but Cain let him, didn’t want to push, wanted it to be good for a first and last fuck and then he was all the way in, Ethan’s perfect little ass nestled against the tops of his thighs and Cain’s pulse throbbing hard inside him.

Cain became concerned when Ethan didn't move right away and reached up to run his thumb reassuringly along his lower lip but gasped when Ethan suddenly rolled his hips ever so slightly, teasing, testing. Ethan released a breath that Cain didn’t know he was holding and rolled his hips again, the flush in his face creeping down his neck.

“Oh,” Ethan moaned softly as if surprised and repeated the motion with more confidence, causing a jolt of pleasure to hit Cain right in the spine and scrambling his senses.

“ _Oh_ ,” he moaned again as Cain rolled his hips up to meet him and that was apparently all the convincing the little blond needed because in the next instant he was pulling nearly all the way off Cain’s cock and pushing himself quickly back down and again and again, fucking himself while Cain looked on in breathless amazement.

They quickly found a rhythm again but it wasn’t nearly as controlled, Ethan unpracticed and Cain so close he could barely think but they both somehow held their own, the pace increasing, their breathing ragged and Cain could feel it, could feel the heat radiating off their bodies in waves. Ethan was moaning loudly, tightening around him and Cain wrapped his hand around Ethan’s cock, jerking once, twice and Ethan came apart in his hands, came all over his belly with a shout, shoving Cain over the edge into his own orgasm with the fluttering of his muscles and the hot, slick shivering of his skin.

Ethan collapsed over him, spent and loose-limbed, weight pleasant and warm against Cain’s chest as they both came down from their high, Cain floating mindlessly anywhere but in a world where he had to murder the best fuck he’d had in years. They lay there for a moment collecting themselves, but eventually the stickiness between them got the better of him and Cain pushed Ethan over, slipping out of him with a groan and grabbed a box of tissues from the nightstand to wipe themselves clean.

Once finished he pulled Ethan close and the little blond sighed, rested his head on Cain’s chest with an arm across his waist and Cain gave him a firm squeeze.

“That was...” Ethan breathed against his skin, placing a hot, wet kiss there.

“Yeah,” Cain agreed, thoughtful.

Ethan’s fingers began to move, absently tracing designs along Cain’s shoulder and down his arm. “Why did he pick me?” he finally asked, voice small, barely audible.

Cain grabbed Ethan’s hand and brought it up to his mouth, nibbled his fingers before answering. “They’re vain assholes,” Cain explained quietly, “and you’re hot.” It was more or less true but Cain wasn’t exactly sure that was the reason, a small part of him worried that he’d been made.

Ethan snorted lightly but Cain could feel him smiling against his chest. He pulled his hand from Cain’s grip and went back to tracing along his skin. “You’re not so bad yourself,” Ethan told him and kissed his chest again.

There was a long pause, and if it wasn’t for Ethan running his fingers over his shoulder and up his neck Cain would have thought he’d fallen asleep, but then he frowned, watched the delicately long fingers move in a precise arc across his collarbone and his breath caught. He couldn’t. There was no fucking way.

“So are you going to kill me now?” Ethan yawned, exhausted and relaxed and warm as he nestled into Cain’s side.

“Later, baby,” he murmured. He was comfortable with the pretty blond pressed against him though he was suddenly on edge, his thoughts in tumult. Another few hours to sort everything out wouldn’t hurt.

\--------------------------------------------------------

Cain awoke with a start to find himself alone in bed. He swore, hadn’t meant to fall asleep but Ethan had turned out to be a surprisingly good bed companion, tucked softly into all of Cain’s sharp corners, making him lazy and comfortable, so he supposed he wasn’t too irritated by it. Even though it was for only a few hours it had been a long time since he’d slept that well, which made his evening task all the more disappointing. He rose, stretched his back and checked the bedside clock for the time. Just past five in the afternoon. The sun was down and Ethan was up, vampire hoodoo already reprogramming him to the night shift. In about another twelve hours he’d be erratic and dangerous, so it was best to get it done while he was still weak and unlikely to put up a fight.

Cain dressed quietly in the dark, donning his usual uniform of jeans and a black t-shirt and scrubbed his hand through his hair to work out the knots. He crossed the room to the thermostat and popped it open to reveal a keypad, punched in the long string of numbers required to open his small hidden cache of weapons below and squinted against the backlight as the small panel in the wall slid open. He reached for the .357 but thought better of it when he spied the twenty-four karat gold plated .44 magnum Desert Eagle that he was saving for a special occasion, and couldn’t think of a better occasion than this one. He pulled it out, admired the color and shine to it and checked the magazine, pulled back the slide to load a round in the chamber and looked down the sight. Blond for a blond, he thought grimly and snorted; since when did he wax poetic? He set the safety and punched the panel closed and sidled up to the bedroom door, cracked it quietly and peered out into the warmly lit living room. 

The sounds and smells of bacon and eggs cooking assaulted his senses and Cain smiled slightly. Any other time and this would have been the perfect date, hot sex with a hot boy and breakfast the next morning, but this wasn’t any other time and it disappointed Cain all over again. The first decent piece of ass he’d managed to bag in Vegas and he had to go and get himself bitten. He pushed the door open and crept warily toward the tiny kitchen, checking every blind spot (there were few, he’d designed it that way) but allowed his guard to drop a little when he spied Ethan plating scrambled eggs with a spatula, his skinny back to him and facing the counter. He was wearing one of Cain’s large t-shirts and a pair of pajama pants that were about four sizes too big for him but Cain decided he looked good that way, silky fair hair rumpled from sleep and sex and dammit, he had to fucking stop. This was going nowhere. He sat at the kitchen table and set the gun down in front of him with a deliberately audible click. 

Ethan startled and turned, soft brown eyes locking briefly with his, then let them slide to take in the gun on the table. He didn’t say anything, though, just stared a moment and brought his gaze back up, expression unreadable.

“‘Morning,” Cain offered when Ethan just stood there.

“Good morning,” he replied quietly.

Cain gestured toward the stove. “This is nice,” he said.

Ethan blushed prettily and fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “I just thought...I...” he stammered.

“Only one plate, though?”

“The...the smell, it...it makes me sick. I don’t want it. What’s happening?” Ethan asked, even though it was plain on his face that he knew.

“You’re turning,” Cain answered anyway and slowly rose, picking up the Desert Eagle and cautiously closing the distance between them. Ethan backed up until his ass hit the counter and Cain let him, wishing to make it as gentle and non-threatening as possible, though it was realistically anything but. Ethan was trembling, eyes impossibly large in his flushed face, clearly terrified but he made no move to escape, no move to prolong his life and postpone the inevitable and Cain was impressed: despite it all the guy was braver than he looked. What a fucking waste.

“I...I wanted to thank you,” Ethan breathed after a moment.

Cain hummed in question, looking at his lips and bringing a hand up to gently tuck a lock of blond hair behind his ear. “For what?” he asked. Ethan flinched slightly as Cain stroked a warm calloused thumb across his cheekbone and cupped the side of his face, leaned in and pressed the Desert Eagle to his chest. Ethan distractedly took it in his hands and held it there, eyes searching, not breathing.

Ethan blinked as he remembered himself and swallowed tightly. “You’ve, uh...you’ve been really kind about this. Kinder than I expected. So...thank you.” 

Cain leaned forward and pressed his lips to Ethan’s for one last sweet, soft kiss. Ethan’s eyelids fluttered closed and he sighed lightly, a tiny shudder passing through him, a small release of tension but Cain only let it last a moment, let himself marvel at the addictingly reactive body pressed against him for the last time and pulled away. “I’m not that kind,” he murmured and Ethan’s eyes flew open in confusion. “I’m sorry, baby, but I think you’re meant to live.” He quickly gripped the blond’s head on either side and gave it a savage wrenching twist. A sickening crack punctuated the sizzle of the forgotten bacon on the stove and he let go, Ethan’s lifeless body crumpling to the tile with a limp thud. Cain looked down and heaved a heavy sigh. Fucking waste, indeed. He reached over to turn off the burner and placed a few slices of bacon on the plate with the eggs, grabbed a fork from the utensil drawer, stepped over Ethan’s wide-eyed, unseeing corpse and sat at the table to eat and wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUN FACTS: The Stallion is based on an old mob/celebrity hangout called Crazy Horse Too. It closed a few years ago but just reopened in May as The Horse. Tacky, old school Grecian charm at its best. Oh, and boobs.
> 
> It only takes 37 seconds to get to the observation deck of the Stratosphere. I didn't mention it, but you have to pop your ears several times.
> 
> Ellis Island has really good, really cheap drunk eats.
> 
> \------------
> 
> Hoooo, boy! This is shaping up to be a long one. I'm not really sure how many chapters it will be since this shit's just kind of writing itself, but I can tell you that chapter two will be much shorter for pacing purposes.
> 
> Thanks to Tumblr user heartsung for requesting this AU. I don't think my brain would have gone there otherwise. This is for you, sweetcheeks!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading. <3


	2. Beginner's Luck

Cain didn’t have to wait long, the shifting of the locking mechanism in the heavy metal door signaling Deimos’ arrival as he was idly burning through his second cigarette at the kitchen table after taking care of the dishes. He heard the door swing open and turned to greet his partner. “Myshonok, you wouldn’t fucking believe-”

“Cain, you fucking moron!” a deep voice bellowed and Cain rolled his eyes as a hulking black man wearing a Kevlar vest and carrying a twelve gauge shotgun stormed through the living room and into his line of sight, that hawk-nosed rookie named Praxis dutifully right behind him. “Deimos told me what happened. Fine mess you made out-” he pulled up short as his eyes took in the scene of Cain sitting perfectly relaxed at the kitchen table with a dead body on the floor. “The fuck is this?”

“The fuck does it look like?” Cain grumbled around his cigarette.

“Looks like you got yourself a problem. You finally go off the rails and kill a hooker? Brandi said you left with a blond piece last night.”

“He’s not a fucking hooker, asshole.” He cast a sidelong glance at Deimos creeping toward the kitchen with a stake in his hand and gave his head a minute shake. Deimos narrowed his eyes but slipped the stake inside his jacket, clicking his tongue in disapproval and backing away.

“So what’s he doing dead on your floor, _asshole_?” Encke pressed.

Cain glared at him and stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray, unamused. “We got jumped and he was bitten,” he explained, ignoring the impatient look on the other man’s face. “I didn’t find out until we got back here that the fucking thing fed him its blood.”

“Come again?”

Cain sighed, irritated that Encke was playing dumb.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Encke drawled sarcastically. “Doth this offend you? Because I’m pretty fucking sure you just told me there’s a _freshly turned vampire in your kitchen_.”

“He’s still technically dead so he’s not exactly turned yet,” Praxis supplied and Encke whipped around to glare at him, a thousand unspoken insults burning in his eyes. Praxis closed his big, dumb mouth with a click and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“So, what?” Encke continued, and Cain thought he could actually see steam rising from his head. “You thought you’d crack his pretty little neck and hasten the process?”

“Encke.”

“Couldn’t you just fuck Deimos? This piece of ass got you so hard you had to go and make him your little vampire girlfriend?”

“Encke-”

“You a fangerfa-”

“ _Encke_ ," Cain snarled, fed up with the bullshit interrogation, "he can see the mark.”

Encke's eyebrows shot up and Cain was pleased to have finally commanded his attention. “What?” he asked dumbly.

“You heard me.”

“Was it before or after he was bitten?”

“Not sure,” Cain told him. “Maybe before. Definitely after. Anyway, what difference does it make? He can see the fucking thing.”

“Is that even possible? Praxis?” Encke asked the other man skeptically.

Praxis shrugged, looking every inch the moron Cain thought he was. Something about the guy rubbed him the wrong way and it wasn’t just his ugly face. “I guess,” he began, unsure. “I mean, there were rumors about Harker back in the day but they’re unsubstantiated.”

“Substantiate them,” Encke told him.

“Yeah, sure. As soon as I get off work I-"

“Now.”

“But-”

“Do you see this soon-to-be baby fanger laying on the floor here?” Encke gestured toward Ethan’s corpse with his shotgun.

Praxis fixed him with a glare and Cain snickered; he might have been dumber than a box of rocks but at least the shithead had balls enough to challenge the boss, which was something even _he_ wouldn’t do. “Fine. Fuck. Cain, you got a phone I can use?”

Cain jerked his head toward the front door. “Downstairs in the office,” he grumbled and rolled his eyes when Praxis made a face. “Don’t worry, kid, caller ID is blocked.”

Praxis muttered an annoyed “thanks” before heading for the door and leaving the adults to talk.

“So what’s your plan here?” Encke demanded.

“Ain’t got one,” Cain admitted and waved his hand dismissively when Encke gaped at him. “You know we don’t got a choice in this shit,” he told him and the man grunted noncommittally, apparently mollified. He peered over Cain’s shoulder at Ethan's corpse and made a small noise of disgust when his eyes fell on the slight gleam of gold and mother-of-pearl peeking out from under his hands. 

"That the new Deagle you been going on about?" he asked.

Cain nodded and pulled another cigarette out of the pack on the table and fumbled for the lighter.

"Dramatic bastard."

Cain shrugged. "I wanted to see what would happen."

“That’s cold,” Encke muttered. "Did he say anything?”

"'Thank you,'" he replied with a snort, lighting the cigarette and taking a long drag.

"Huh."

Cain exhaled with a grin, then looked sharply to his right as the bright white flash of the silent alarm above the table suddenly triggered and he cursed, hefting his shotgun and stubbing the cigarette out on the table in one smooth motion.

“The fuck is that?” Encke asked, body rigid and eyes tense.

Cain was already halfway to the door, Deimos at his heels before he barked over his shoulder, “It’s the fucking fire alarm. There’s trouble downstairs.” Except he knew it wasn’t fire; not even close.

“Fuck,” Encke spat, casting one last glance at the body on the floor and quickly followed.

Praxis wasn’t in the office when they rushed through and Cain deduced he’d already gone out to investigate without backup like the rookie piece of shit he was. He paused to press his ear to the door and listen for any clue about what was happening and signalled to Encke for silence when he saw the man open his mouth to speak. The music was still blaring, bass thumping, but above the din he could hear the muffled shouts and general noise of panic.

Cain looked at Deimos and hissed for him to hit the light. When all was plunged in darkness he cracked the door and peered out into the chaos of bodies rushing toward the exits, customers and employees alike, a stark contrast from the indulgent laziness the club usually induced. He spied Brandi crouched behind the bar, eyes wide and staring off toward the center stage, her hand still frozen over the panic button Cain had installed for just such an occasion and thanked fuck that she had managed to do something she was told for once. His gaze followed hers to a huge, musclebound bastard hauling itself up onto the stage after Candy, the poor girl rooted to the spot in fear and screaming. A glint of blue light reflected off its fangs and Cain swore. Sometimes he really hated being right.

Gunfire cracked loudly to the right and the vampire barely flinched, whipped its head around and snarled, eyes large and round and stupid and _angry_.

"We got a newbie," Cain announced over his shoulder and tore open the door and the three of them spilled into the club as the vampire launched itself at Praxis, forgetting Candy in its rage.

Praxis fired again, unloaded almost an entire magazine but the fanger didn’t react to the bullets riddling its body, only hurled itself over a table and barreled into Praxis at full force and shouldered him against the wall with a roar. Praxis cartoonishly bounced off the wall and then crumpled to the floor but the fanger wasn’t anywhere near done, just hauled him back up by the throat and pressed its strong hand against the side of Praxis’ head to keep him steady against the wall while it leaned in to snarl in his face.

Cain circled wide and trained his shotgun on the fanger’s back, dubious of the damage it could do when the damn thing ignored nearly a dozen pops from a nine millimeter and hoped to Hell that Deimos could get the drop on it with his stake before it tore Praxis to pieces and ruined his carpet. He spotted the little man creeping up from the left, taking advantage of the vampire’s blind spot while its head was turned toward Praxis’ face but Candy started screaming again and its head swiveled back toward her, blowing Deimos' cover.

Caught but committed, Deimos sprang toward the vampire, stake in hand but the thing anticipated his move, pushed itself away from the wall, raking its nails down the side of Praxis' face, blood blooming in bright trails that followed its nails from his forehead, across his left eye and down to his chin. Praxis dropped to the ground again like a ragdoll, clearly unconscious and some humane part of Cain decided it was for the best. The dumb fuck.

Encke unloaded a booming round into the vampire then, but went ignored in favor of swatting Deimos out of the air like a fly and Cain felt his heart drop when he watched the stake Deimos was clutching fling across the room and clatter onto the stage. He hadn't thought to bring any spares, distracted by watching Ethan and assuming four hunters could handle whatever was down there.

"Encke," he threw over his shoulder, the muzzle of his shotgun trained on the vampire that was now trained on him. "If you got any ideas I'd like to hear 'em!"

"Unload!" Encke ordered and he and Cain both discharged their weapons in rapid-fire succession. Cain struck it several times in the chest and Encke the shoulder and side, but the damn thing only lost its balance for a moment and corrected itself, looking every inch like ground chuck as it leaked dark blood and stared Cain down. A normal vampire would have at least been disabled by such an onslaught, but not only was this one new, it was obviously far from normal.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me!" Encke shouted and fired again.

Just as Cain was considering what it would take to get across the room and grab the stake a flash of gold and black caught his vision at his right and his eyes went wide to see Ethan sprint from the office door, a feral look on his still pretty face and fangs bared for all the world to see. He flung himself at the vampire but it grabbed him by the oversized tee and whipped him toward the stage where his skinny back connected with the pole with a force that should have killed a mortal, but Ethan scrambled to his feet seemingly unharmed just before the hulking vampire descended on him and the two of them fell to the stage floor, grappling and snarling and snapping.

Dumbstruck, Cain watched as Ethan suddenly reared up, Deimos' lost stake in hand. The vampire reached up to claw it from his grip but Ethan clamped his fangs on its wrist and wrenched hard, tore its hand clean from the joint and spat it to the floor. The fanger howled and wrapped its remaining hand around Ethan’s throat and squeezed, Ethan’s face crumpling into a grimace as the strong fingers bit into his flesh, but with the vampire’s only hand occupied he raised the stake above his head and plunged it deep within its chest, paralyzing it as the sharpened ash struck its heart. It fell back to the floor, its weight and frozen grip dragging Ethan with it and Ethan calmly pried its fingers from his throat, regained his balance and straddled the thing, a wicked gleam in his large eyes. He leaned down, disappearing from Cain’s sight and Cain didn’t have to be a genius to know what was happening, could almost hear the noise above the pulsing music and then Ethan sat up again to fling the vampire’s head away, just like Cain had done that morning.

Ethan held his blood-coated hands before him, turning them slowly front to back as if in inspection and brought one to his face, stuck his tongue out to lick it experimentally and shuddered, closing his eyes. He sat there just a moment, the look of relief evident on his face and Cain would have thought it was hot if it wasn’t for the smear of blood at his lips. As if he somehow knew what Cain was thinking Ethan opened his eyes and cast him a half-lidded gaze and Cain gasped: the blood on Ethan’s hands suddenly shifted and ran, tracing precise arcs up his forearms and under his sleeves. It pulsed bright red for a moment and then settled to rust, a perfect mirror image of the hunter’s mark they all wore.

“Fuck,” Encke swore, and they exchanged a nervous glance.

Sometimes Cain _really_ hated being right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you it'd be short.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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